


We're Not Broken, Just Bent (We Can Learn to Love Again)

by PirateQueenNina



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Green Arrow - All Media Types
Genre: AU, F/M, follows the plot of catch and release
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1298404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PirateQueenNina/pseuds/PirateQueenNina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tommy dies the day before, he and Laurel are supposed to be married, Mourning Laurel has to relearn how to go through the days alone and finds a more than welcoming shoulder to cry on, in Tommy's best friend Oliver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Not Broken, Just Bent (We Can Learn to Love Again)

**Author's Note:**

> I thought this would be interesting because I love this movie and I wanted to see what could happen with it. In this work there is no crime fighting, everyone's just a normal person with a normal job.

_You wanna know what I keep thinking about? The argument we had before, you left, remember? I mean, there you are, heading off for your big bachelor party archery trip and I started in on you like some hysterical housewife, insisting that you finish the seating chart before you go. What was I thinking? What I should have said as you were leaving was "I love you" or at least, I don't know "have fun, be nice to the strippers." Instead the last words you heard me say were, "Listen pal, no more nooky till you figure out where to put your father's business partners,"_

I kept staring blankly out, hoping to be free of this, but I'm wasn't and I wouldn't be for awhile. I looked through the window of the Merlyn family mansion and I saw the flowers, the flowers that were meant to be arranged for our wedding, flowers that I would have walked through and looked at you and been the happiest girl on the planet, because I could marry you. Before they even reached the door, though, the maid turned them away, informing them that there was no longer a wedding and that the perishables that could be saved and refunded needed to be, just another reminder that you're gone really. I should have cried right then, but I couldn't, because it still didn't feel quite real and instead I just touched my mouth with two fingers, the palm of my hand grasping a tissue that someone no doubt gave me, and breathed to remind myself that I was alive. And this was real and I had to deal with it.

There were people surrounding me in the house already and there were more people, quickly dressed in black that morning, coming up the way, who are let in by the staff of the house, offering the same stock greeting to everyone and trying not be too cheerful, because it was a funeral for someone who didn't deserve to die so young. They looked beautiful and it seemed like they might have been here for someone else. Hell, it felt like I was there for someone else. If it wasn't for the heaviness in my heart, I might have believed that I was there for someone else's funeral.

Except no one would let me forget that that it was your funeral. Everyone shook hands and gave their condolences to a select few of us who were lucky to be extremely close to you. The bunch of us who should have been getting ready to wear black and white and walk down a great isle that was supposed to be set up before that great big arch on the Malcolm Estate. I hadn't moved and in general, people moved around me. They didn't come too close for awhile, but eventually a group came to close around me and take pity on the fact I lost my fiancee on the day of our wedding. They always said a version of the same thing. "Our hearts go out to you" or some other bullshit like this.

I looked to your father who simply tips his champagne in a sort of toast and nodded to tell me that I was doing a good job, but it didn't make me feel better. I just wanted everyone gone. They kept touching me, no matter how much I clearly looked uncomfortable with that.

Your father went over to Thea and John, who smile to him, "How you doing, Mr. Merlyn?" I heard John ask. "Need anything?"

"A scotch," He said, as he put down his other glass on a tray that was going around, "But thin it out. Don't let me get too irish." Your father said. While I know he was never very paternal to you, you should have seen him fuss over Thea, who couldn't control her stomach even in time of crisis. A sandwich in one hand and a drink in another, and a smile on her face, maybe because she knew it was so out of character for your dad. "You both, you were great today. He had good friends," He told Thea, with the saddest smile on his face.

And then there was Oliver. Chatting up a caterer.

"He was a friend of yours, the guy who died?" She asked. She was just his type too. Blonde. Leggy. Busty.

He smiled and it caught, almost sighing, but he wouldn't let that out. Not around her. "Yeah, we grew up together."

"So you live here in Starling?"

"No," He said with a laugh, hysterical at the thought of living here, because Oliver was a free spirit and living with the same people everyday, that wasn't the kind of person that he was. He had wings. No cage for him. And Starling was practically a gilded cage for Oliver Queen. "I moved away after high school,"

"Where to?" She asked with interest.

"Gotham,"

"Oh yeah, what do you do?"

"I make commercials," He said to her. It wasn't exactly untrue. But he was getting too far into him and now he was having to stretch the truth. "Is that a tattoo?" He asked.

I stopped listening because people were touching my hair and my arm and they were trying to get my attention and so I gave it to them, albeit a bit uncomfortably. Why did they have to touch me? Seriously, all of the touching that I didn't get. I nodded to them politely hoping to get them to stop, because at this point, I would have given anything for someone to get them to stop.

_How could you leave me alone with all these people? You know I hate crowds. And seven inch heels. I'm wearing seven inch heels. I don't know what I'm doing. I would if you were here. You'd know how to make all of these people stop talking about you in the past tense. You'd get your pervy uncle off me. How could you leave me alone with your pervy uncle? You know I can't handle him. I can't handle anything without you._

No one seems to notice that, or they don and they don't care. They want me to be their pillar of strength, but I just can't. I stayed in the embrace of the consoling loved ones until I can't any longer. I shoved my way out of your grandmother's embrace and headed up the stairs for the bathroom in your childhood bedroom, because maybe there I would get some peace.

I stepped into the tub, one heeled foot at a time and draw the curtain, so that it looks mostly normal, people won't easily look behind it because there is nothing out of place and I took a moment and relax, hands over my eyes, taking time to breathe, but also not doing those stupid breathing exercises that everyone said I should be doing because it would be good for me. At that moment, the only thing that would be good for me is the one that I couldn't have, you.

And I let myself sit there for a couple of minutes and let myself believe that it was just me. There was no one else. There was no plethora of persons outside the curtain that I hid myself behind. No humongous and intricate cake in the fridge that was supposed to be a celebration of our happiness. There was no your father who would no doubt want to rehash a little bit. There were no friends wondering what I would do with the honeymoon package. There was just me. And for a moment, I could picture you on the other side of that curtain, doing up your tuxedo, tying your bow tie, and making sure your hair was the just the right combination of combed and just rolled out of bed that made all the society girls swoon.

And for a moment, I forgot that you were dead.

Except that Oliver came in with the busty, leggy caterer with the potential tattoo, clearly in a passionate moment because there were groaning sounds. He kicked the door closed. And locked it, heard it click. And then I remembered where I was, because it's really hard to not feel awkward in a moment like that. But I saw the shadows and he picked her up and she squealed as he put her down on the counter and they went to town. I sat there in the tub, wanting to tell them that they should probably stop, that someone else was in this bathroom, that it was occupado. I picked up the tiniest hint of curtain to see if there was any way out, but there was not. And so I was destined to hear Oliver have sex with this ridiculous woman.

Who by the way started saying "Sock it to me," over and over again, because apparently rock 'em sock 'ems were her kink. I couldn't imagine being more horrified. You were dead. And that was abundantly clear. And two people who should have grace enough to be respectful of that, clearly weren't.

They laughed and I just wished it could be over. Hearing that woman say "sock it to me" was really weird. After a leg cramp, where she almost kicked me in the face (god, how that would have blown my cover), they seemed to be pretty revved up and almost ready to finish, because the "sock it to me" were getting more frequent and more breathy. Oliver at least seemed to feel the need to keep it quiet, the caterer had no intention of doing so, because he shushed her, but she was almost there and there wasn't much of a fight. I circled my hands and at this point it was a little bit content, because well, you can't not love an orgasm, even if it's not your own.

They finished and she giggled, yet again. "That was good," and he just smiled, you could hear it in the way his breath came out. But that was the part I couldn't stand. Get out. So I could get out. I rolled my eyes at them and just waited them out. I was actually a little pissed, because they were allowed to enjoy themselves and I had to deal with you being gone which was never a fun thing to do. They panted heavily and she turned on the water. "All employees must wash hands before returning to work," She said. Cute. But not really. I nodded with pursed lips. And I could see them finishing up and so I just lounged, maybe I could get back to the zen state I was in before.

I wished I hadn't heard her. "Call me, Mr. Yummy," Because god dammit, I hated her. I hated her a lot. I just wished I could be her for one more minute, having sex in bathrooms and not having to worry about a dead fiancee. I heard the door open and close. And I heard him still in the bathroom. He turned on the water and looked at himself in the mirror, maybe to weigh the choice, maybe to make sure he wasn't too messed up.

Regardless, I knew I couldn't stay in there any longer. Whatever her name was, she ruined zen time where all I could see was you. And so I opened the curtain, wanting to get out. "Jesus Chri--" He shouted, because he was about to light a joint and well, someone coming out of the bathtub, that wasn't exactly normal. "Oh shit. Laurel." He said.

I just stepped out of the tub, one foot at a time, just like I did when I got in. I was ready to leave. I had my hand on the knob and everything but he stopped me "Ugghhha..." He said, like he wanted me to listen. So I stood there for a few minutes, and he couldn't come up with anything. He could see the bags under my eyes and where I'd been crying even though the redness was all out and there was no mascara running down my face. He didn't say anything more. And I just turned away and left.

* * *

 

The misery, of course, continued because I had to meet with the lawyer to divy up the stuff that we had together. Our personal effects. What was yours and what was mine.

"And you realize that since you weren't married, Mr. Merlyn is the legal heir. We're just putting the estate in order?" She asked me.

"Yep," I breathed.

She got the paperwork and asked, "Did you and Mr. Merlyn share a title on anything? Car, house, the works?"

"No," I said as I looked down to my engagement ring, "I'm in a rental. Which I can't afford by myself. Wow." I said, just realizing this fact now. I'd have to find some place to stay. That was always fun. There was nothing I loved more than getting the shit kicked out of me. "We just found it. He hadn't even moved in."

"Where's the paperwork for this big account?" She asked.

I didn't know anything about that. Besides, being at our wedding, Tommy had cut ties with his family, so he never had any big accounts at least in his name. "What big account?"

"This 48,000 dollars on his tax return but I don't see any statements for it." She said.

I thought about it. "His savings had about that much, right?"

She looked at me like I was a monkey, although, I guess the monkey might be smarter. "No, the 48,000 is interest, Laurel. For an account to generate that much, the balance would have to be," She thought about it in her head for awhile. "about a million dollars," This was one of the many reasons, I was glad I was not an estate lawyer. Helping people was my cause, but when they knew they had been had. Finding out about the secrets after the fact, I realized I didn't know Tommy as well as I thought. A million dollars. Tommy had a million dollars when he died.


End file.
